“Let’s see what life brings us,” Ben said to me yesterday as I was leaving Cass’ house. Yeah. That’s the best attitude to have.
My name is Karen Ann Marie Marguerite John Hankison Hawes Boswell, and I’m ready for whatever life brings me.
At Sunny’s lovely, peaceful, little home in leafy Barbican (in St. Andrew, right outside Kingston). She is exceptionally easy to get along with, a really nice person who THINKS. Sunny, like most Jamaicans, has a lovely, slow, quiet, sweet way of talking that is so appealing to moi. It’s the way they talk in New Orleans. Delicious, sensual, and warm, their voices surround me with love. “Are you OK,” is a common question, and these people mean it; they want to know if you are indeed alright.
The little flat has a back door that opens into a big sunny area, down steps to the old (empty) swimming pool and clothes line, and look over the railing to a little creek and lots of trees and grasses growing. Beautiful, especially after being in cities for 7 weeks.
The Soulmate relationship: it’s not all about me. It’s a natural concern about the welfare of my spiritual Other Half (one who is as real to me as Me-mySelf).
ON THE DIVINE CONSORT
(…the root philosophy of the tantrik traditions.) There is no Shiva without Shakti and yoga is a realisation of the unity of all things. That is not to say that everything in tantrik texts is figurative; many describe practices which are said to bring about this realisation.
It is also important to remember that legends and stories within the tradition may be intended to appeal to parts of the human mind which are not solely connected with logic.
Saying Good-bye in my mind to my most recent possible-Soulmate: Ben. Whether or not the idea of One Eternal Soulmate is true doesn’t matter; it’s true to me. it works for me. And now I have to let go of Ben completely and say to myself, “Have a good life, Ben!”
Christmas in Jamaica is Dec. 24,, 25, and 26th (Boxing Day).
“Look into the Book of Life, and you will see that there is a light far, far away.” (song on the radio in this leafy suburb of Kingston)
Yes, I am a writer. But I am sick to death of mentally reframing all my thoughts, emotions, and physical sensations (visual, audio, etc.) into words. To do so reduces the experience for me.
I am so glad to have passed beyond valuing people for how their bodies make me feel. Those early years were difficult because I was blinded by my libido; ultimately, my narrow view was self-defeating, leading me nowhere.
I judged men by their bodies. The primary question I asked myself was: What kind of pleasure would that body give me? This was an offensive position*; I felt that if I judged men first, their negative view of me wouldn’t sting so much. (*Based on the theory that “The best defense is a good offense.”)
Secondarily, my limited perspective was based on my past sexual experience: a big dick meant physical pleasure. Physically, I did need a man with a large penis to bring me to vaginal orgasm; nevertheless, I was chomping at the bit for years, knowing I was on a path that limited me and others. Now I see people in a “larger” way by acknowledging their spiritual existence. Namaste: I bow to the Buddha in you.
Maroons (from the Spanish word cimarrón: “fugitive, runaway”, lit. “living on mountaintops”; from Spanish cima: “top, summit”) were runaway slaves in the West Indies, Central America, South America, and North America, who formed independent settlements together. The same designation has also become a derivation for the verb “to maroon“.
|— Geographical Region —|
|Coordinates: 18.2952094°N 77.6953125°W|
|Named for||Topology reminiscent of the shape of cock fighting dens.|
|Time zone||EST (UTC-5)|
Cockpit Country is pockmarked with steep-sided hollows, as much as 120 metres (390 ft) deep in places, which are separated by conical hills and ridges.
In the southwest, near Quick Step, is the district known as the “Land of Look Behind,” so named because Spanish horsemen venturing into this region of hostile runaway slaves were said to have ridden two to a mount, one rider facing to the rear to keep a precautionary watch.
Accompong: A nation within a nation
Published Mar 31, 2004
It’s Friday evening in Accompong, a small town nestled in the craggy hills of Cockpit Country, West Jamaica. We’re huddled around a flickering television screen in ‘Flashy’s Shop’ watching the evening news. The shop-come-bar is no more than four metres square, with empty shelves apart from a few bottles of Guinness and some tinned vegetables. Set back from the rest of the town on the hilltop, with glassless windows opening on to the clear night’s sky, it is the ideal meeting place for locals to relax, play dominoes and conduct ‘reasoning’ sessions (Rastafarian philosophising).
Despite his gold tooth, owner Flashy isn’t very flash, not like your typical money-motivated small businessman. (“Pay me later. No Problem mon” is a phrase I hear again and again.) Halfway through the evening he leaves his patrons/friends to mind the premises and invites me for a walk around town, “circling” he calls it. We pass other shop/bars similar to his, with one or two patrons chatting over the counter, and many other groups on similar nightly strolls. It’s barely eight o’clock, but with little street lighting it seems much later. A circuit of the whole town (population 1,000) takes less than half an hour. It’s a typical rural Jamaican community – apart from the fact that it is exempt from government rule.
In 1739, after 76 years of irregular war, the Maroon slaves signed a peace treaty with the British giving them semi-sovereignty over 1,500 acres of land. The Maroons promised to end all hostility and, controversially, to return any future runaway slaves. The land became Accompong and 265 years later the treaty still stands. The town is run by an elected ‘Colonel’ instead of the government, residents don’t pay taxes, there are no town police and yet it’s almost 100% crime free. The state can only interfere in the case of a capital crime and Flashy tells me that there has only ever been one major incident – an attempted gun robbery by an “outsider”.
As late as the 1980s, the town gates were kept locked and outsiders had to seek permission to enter from the Colonel. But times are changing. Residents have seen the benefits of tourism – social and financial – and now visitors come and go freely. A small museum has been constructed in the town centre, showcasing excavated relics, traditional musical instruments and details of ceremonial practices, and local guides are happy to conduct tours through the wilderness to the Peace Cave, where the treaty is believed to have been signed by their founding Colonel, Cudjoe.